


The Slipper and the Rogue

by LadyKeane



Series: Cinderotten [2]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Disney References, Fractured Fairy Tale, M/M, Male Cinderella, Poor Sport, Robbie is his cranky tsundere self, Robbie-centric, also a dragon, some gender fluidity, tricksy kiddoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKeane/pseuds/LadyKeane
Summary: Sequel to 'Cinderotten'. In the aftermath of the fateful Lazytown Hallowe'en Ball, Sportacus is on a desperate search for his princess, the owner of the stripy purple slipper. Robbie Rotten is of absolutely no help, much to Stephanie's chagrin.
Relationships: Robbie Rotten/Sportacus
Series: Cinderotten [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678567
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	1. ~*Once Upon A Dream*~

At last, things seemed to be returning to normal.  
Even the distant hollering of the town’s children at the sports park was a reassuring sign today. After all that had transpired in the intoxicating darkness, what he needed more than anything was stability. Banality. A return to the status quo.  
He knew better than anyone else the liberating effects of the witching hours. All of his greatest inventions (though perhaps not his most long-lasting ones) had seen their conception after midnight, when obscure energy reserves were called upon and one’s imagination began to usurp the survival instincts. At once hidden in shadow and tinted by moonlight, the sensation was akin to some sort of hedonistic masked ball, at which day-to-day personas were cast off in favour of unspoken possibilities and deeply-buried urges…  
“Ouch.”  
  
The small, poorly aimed silver fork stabbed his hand viciously. He scowled at it. Stupid fork. Wasn’t it aware of its assigned task of scooping up a mouthful of the dense vanilla slice that sat before him? How dare it get ideas straying beyond its intended purpose!  
 _A prince is not a pauper, A dragon is not a lapdog, and you,_ he thought at the fork sternly, _are not an implement of destruction_.  
He felt quite pleased with this reproach. But the fork just stared back at him stoically, dropping an overhanging gob of sugary cream onto his trousers.  
Before he could recoil prissily in disgust, a soccer ball caromed out of the blue sky and beaned him right in the face.  
  
“ROBBIE ROTTEN!!!”  
Once the stars, birdies and stoic silver forks had stopped dancing before his eyes, he looked up to find Sportacus standing atop one of the low stucco walls. The elf was wearing an expression that had only ever crossed his face a few times before. A few terrifying, blood-curdling, nightmare-inducing times before.  
  
Robbie swore he could see the veins on the elf's neck twitching.  
“I just found out,” he snarled in a voice to liquefy steel, “that it was YOU disguised as the princess on Hallowe’en night!”  
A particularly wimpy gazelle with social anxiety disorder, being pursued by a sabre-toothed tiger, could not have known the horror that currently surged through Robbie’s being.  
  
He scampered pathetically through the streets, trying to make for the general direction of his billboard. His adrenalin was such that he didn’t quite catch the barrage of adjectives being bellowed at him, nor the variety of balls, bats and sports candy that were making contact with the back of his head.  
“…You LYING… NO-GOOD… PERVERTED… _ROTTEN_ …”  
  
He had made it to the edge of town, but all that awaited him was a dusty road to the far-off highway, flanked by empty paddocks. His billboard was nowhere to be seen. Panic must have distorted his navigation. There was nowhere to flee to, other than…  
“OUT! OUT! GET OUT! If I EVER see your face in this town again, you’ll be fertilising the kids’ vegetable garden!”  
  
Robbie turned around to risk a glimpse at the man that had been his rival for so long. Those eyes that were usually so twinkly, so absurdly blue, were dark and stony. And never before had such redness flushed his complexion. Robbie had not pushed Sportacus this far before—to fury, predation. Part of the shock the villain felt was thanks to seeing the blue oaf capable of such anger. The fire in Robbie’s stomach was doused with the realisation that their days of playful competition had just been abruptly and brutally ended.  
  
“OUT!” The elf roared, rage contorting his usually handsome features.  
Mechanically, Robbie wrenched his eyes away from Sportacus and set a heavy foot upon the dusty road out of town.  
  
“And by the way,” came the hero’s voice, this time slightly resembling its usual lilt.  
Robbie lifted his head, but did not turn around. A hesitant trickle of hope pooled in the pit of his stricken heart.  
“You look HIDEOUS in lavender!!!”  
“No! Not lavender!”  
  
He lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. A sudden shower of gummi worms pelted him from above.  
The dizziness and grogginess slowly ebbed away, and Robbie found himself staring at the lofty ceiling of his undeground lair. His chair had tipped on its side, casting him onto the cold floor and out of his torturous slumber.  
  
The fact that he had only been dreaming did nothing to soothe him. It had been the third time in a week that the same nightmare had visited him. He thought he remembered reading somewhere that recurring dreams tended to foretell one’s future. The November chill suddenly found its way underground, filtering through his heavy satin bathrobe and attacking his core.  
  
Shakily clambering to his feet, he righted the chair, picked up as many of the scattered gummi worms as he could be bothered to, and allowed himself a few deep breaths. In spite of the musings of his subconscious, Robbie reminded himself that Sportacus was: a) Not here, b) boasted an innocence so artless that it would shame heaven’s blondest cherubs, and c) definitely did not know that the pale silk dress of his dream princess currently held an honoured spot in one of Robbie’s costume chambers.  
  
Still ill at ease, he climbed his steel grille catwalk, leant upon the railing, and gazed up at the delicate, wraithlike gown. Immersed in the warm orange gleam of the chamber’s floodlight, it gave the impression of being touched by sunlight even in the depths of the earth.  
Forget catapults and bulldozers. This dainty length of fabric was the most dangerous object that the villain had ever dealt with.  
“You’re a real femme fatale, you know that?” Robbie growled softly. “I’m sure you’ll be the end of me.”  
  
The whole lair shook as a succession of dull metallic thuds rang throughout the cavernous space and rattled mercilessly about in his head.  
“Robbie?”  
The echoed voice bouncing down to him from above was perky and light, and could only belong to one particular Lazytowner.  
And it was the last one that Robbie wanted to face right now.


	2. ~*Why Would a Fella Want a Girl Like Her?*~

He opened the entrance hatch. Before the daylight blinded him, Robbie caught Stephanie’s huge brown eyes glaring reproachfully at him. There was a second squab accompanying her—the voice of the scruffy pigtailed lass rang in the chilly air.  
“Hi, coward. Nice day for a coward, isn’t it, coward?”  
  
Both of them were in on his little cover-up, and Robbie had been dreading the inevitable blackmail. He eyed the two girls standing before him, arms folded, wearing pitiless frowns.  
“State your business and scram,” the villain grumbled.  
“As we speak,” Stephanie said, “there is a massive gathering of women in front of Town Hall. My uncle has had to put off his work, Sportacus is too busy for his hero duties, and every single person in Lazytown is so distracted by gossip that all the shops and offices and classrooms are empty. They’re looking for a woman who doesn’t exist. And it’s all your fault.”  
Her grimace deepened as she finished speaking, trying to extract even a morsel of shame out of Robbie.  
  
The reaction she got was a bombardment of unkind, braying laughter. After a few long, indulgent moments of this, Robbie gasped for air and managed to verbalise his response.  
“Oh… oh, bless… no-one’s even working? This is even better than I hoped! What a pack of _morons!_ ”  
  
His glee was cut short by Trixie thrusting a photocopied poster into his face. In huge, black typeface, a caption reading ‘MISSING’ sat at the top. The grainy black-and-white photo beneath featured a fuzzy, shadowy image of a pale-skinned figure. Dark hair swam around the curved bare shoulders like thick tendrils of smoke.  
  
“Where did you get that photo!?” Robbie squawked.  
“Did you forget the surveillance equipment that Pixel’s family has set up outside their house?” Stephanie asked.  
As Robbie grit his teeth, Trixie giggled and nudged her friend’s arm. “The camera also caught something else that night, didn’t it, Stephanie?”  
The pink-haired girl blushed a little. “Trixie, don’t tell him about THAT!” She whispered this loud enough for Robbie to overhear.  
“Tell me about what?” He was sure he was not going to like this.  
Trixie’s giggling escalated.  
“So does Sportacus really taste like sports candy, or was his moustache tickling your lip too much to notice?”  
As she doubled over in hysterics, Robbie felt the residual terror of his nightmare pulsate through him cruelly.  
They had seen That Kiss.  
  
“You little…” He attempted to sound menacing, but his shallow breath and high-pitched whimpering betrayed him.  
“Oh well, maybe I’ll just go ask Sportacus if his ‘princess’ tasted like junk food,” Trixie teased.  
Stephanie spoke over the top of her companion’s taunting. “All I know, Robbie, is that in situations like this, the truth finds a way to show itself sooner or later. But I can’t stand to see Sportacus waste all his energy searching for a phony princess. So if YOU won’t tell him, then I’ll have to—”  
“NO!” Came the desperate shriek. “You keep your smarmy little mouth shut, Pinky!”  
  
She tilted her head to the side, shrugged, and smiled oddly at him.  
“Then you’re coming with us,” she announced, and proceeded to yank Robbie’s earlobe, clasping it firmly between her small fingers. She tugged him out of his hatch, along the steel platform, and into the town. Hating himself, the tall man passively stumbled along with her. What was it about the little pink shrimp that made her so hard to disobey?  
  
It wasn’t long until the peircing squeals met their ears.  
As Stephanie had described, the street in front of Town Hall was clogged by what looked like every single female in Lazytown. Tall, short, blonde, brunette, granny or girl scout, they were all gathered in tight clumps, causing a din worthy of a Johnny B. Badd comeback tour. Some waved about copies of the ‘MISSING’ poster, and others were winding tape measures around their feet. The night of the ball had seen them all unified by their Britney Spears ensembles, but today they were all there to insist that _they_ had been disguised as the mystery princess. It was every gal for herself.  
  
As the two children and their captive pushed their way into the throng, Robbie picked up bits and pieces of conversation:  
“If that purple hussy can’t be bothered to show up today, I say Sportacus should marry whichever girl comes closest to fitting the slipper.”  
“You only say that ‘cause your tootsies are so huge.”  
“Yeah, I heard Bessie say that whoever this girl is, she must have the biggest feet in the world.”  
“And the flattest chest, to boot.”  
“Why would a fella want a girl like her?”  
  
Robbie tried to fire off a dirty look for every catty remark, but he was promptly dragged up on to the podium standing at the top of the sports park. Behind his pedestal, the Mayor was talking with Ms Busybody in hushed, intense tones, while Sportacus stood beside them, his usual fidgeting coloured by added fretfulness. Stingy held the coveted duty of slipper-bearer, proudly displaying the stripy pump on a thick velvet cushion.  
“This slipper may not be mine,” he greeted the trio, “but the job of looking after it is.”  
Trixie clipped him across the head as Stephanie approached Sportacus, leaving Robbie to slouch at the back of the stage and look out of place.  
  
“What’s happened so far?” Stephanie asked.  
“Well,” Sportacus replied, “we were all ready to start calling women to try on the slipper, but then a group of teenage girls in the front kind of… rushed the stage.”  
Stephanie winced.  
“Bessie managed to beat them back and prevent a riot, but… she’s just discussing how to handle this with your uncle now.”  
“I saw a few girls padding their stockings with thick bedsocks this morning,” she told him. “I’m starting to think that the whole slipper thing isn’t such a good idea.”  
Sportacus sighed. “But that slipper is all I have left of her.”  
  
Stephanie patted his arm in a show of comradeship. “Don’t feel bad, Sportacus. There’s always a way. Even if it involves showing a bit of SPINE on someone’s part.”  
The elf yelped as he felt Stephanie’s fingernails dig into his shoulder. She was glaring at something behind him.  
“Robbie? What are you doing here?”  
The villain flinched at the sound of Sportacus’ voice. His lip twitched.  
“I’m… here as a spectator of turmoil and chaos. You know how I get off on that stuff.”  
Sportacus raised an eyebrow.  
“Robbie has something he needs to tell you as well,” Stephanie asserted.  
“I NEVER PROMISED THAT I WAS GOING TO—”  
  
“—Excuse me? Pardon? Is this thing on?” Milford’s voice came through the loudspeakers, timid and wavering. A harsh ring of feedback silenced the chatter in the crowd.  
“Ahem, yes.” He gave his usual placid grin to his townspeople. “Due to the, er, ‘unanticipated unpleasantness’ that erupted earlier today, Ms Busybody and I have decided it would be most prudent to, er…” He clasped a hand over the microphone and turned to Bessie. “How did you put it again?...”  
The stout woman wrenched the microphone out of Milford’s hand, glowering down at the troublesome girls in the crowd.  
“Slipper fitting will now be by private appoinment ONLY. I will be checking personally for any foot augmentations, be they bedsocks, adhesive putty, prosthetic foam make-up or otherwise. Young Sprinkly…”  
“It’s STINGY…”  
“…will assist me with what he claims is a formidably accurate tape measure. The slipper will be kept under constant watch, and should anyone plan to steal it for tampering, they will be automatically barred from trying it on and receive a substantial fine. That is all, good day.”  
  
A collective whine went up from the crowd. Bessie strode purposefully off the stage and back into Town Hall, and a pompous Stingy joined her with the slipper.  
A trail of the more assertive girls began to follow them, determined to book the first appointments, while the rest of the throng began to dissolve into the streets. Most gravitated towards the ice-cream stand, the local café or the playground, too demoralised by the anticlimax of the town meeting to continue business as usual (this _was_ Lazytown, after all).  
  
Sportacus stared at the ground, arms folded. So, there was nothing to do now but sit and wait for local beauracracy to properly process his princess.  
Could _anything_ be more unbearable?  
  
Stephanie cleared her throat loudly. She was beaming at the elf, hands behind back. A surreptitious kick was delivered to Robbie’s shin.  
“I…” the villain choked through the throbbing sting in his leg.  
Sportacus grinned at him patiently. The girls leered at him impishly.  
“Do you _mind!?_ ” Robbie barked. He needed to stall, and getting rid of eyewitnesses was killing two birds with one stone.  
“Oh, okay,” Trixie said. “I guess you two wanna be _alone_ for this.”  
  
Once he shot off a final scowl, he followed Sportacus over to a bench in the sports park. The girls could still see him, but at least there was now a comfortable distance to shield him from their… vibes.  
The elf flipped down beside him, that tolerant grin still fixed to his face. The last time they were this close to each other was…  
…Best not to dwell upon.  
“So, Robbie, what did you want to talk about?”  
  
Avoiding Sportacus’ gaze, Robbie’s eyes flitted about the middle distance.  
“I… um…”  
 _Think think think._  
“I’ve been thinking.”  
Sportacus nodded eagerly. “What about?”  
“About…”  
  
Robbie found himself clicking his tounge. He scoured the sad, empty cavern of his brain for a topic.  
Sportacus’ brow crinkled a little—which certainly didn’t help matters, since now Robbie also had to block out how damned cute it made the stupid elf look.  
“Sports candy.” He answered lamely.

“Really?” The hero was delighted with this. “That’s great, Robbie! Do you want to try some?”  
Before Robbie could react, Sportacus had grabbed a huge banana out of his backpack and was waving it in the astonished man’s face.  
Resisting the need to dry retch, Robbie accepted the fruit and tossed it on the bench beside him.  
“Maybe later. Look, perhaps I should just…”  
He made to stand up and flee, but his eye was caught by Stephanie, hands on her hips, tapping her foot. Really, the girl should plan to be a Sergeant Major when she grew up.  
  
“The thing is…” Robbie took a deep breath. “About your princess.”  
Sportacus’ usual cheerfulness went into overdrive, eyes sparkling at the mention of her. “Oh, Robbie,” he gushed, “I worship her.”  
Feeling his pulse accelerate, Robbie masochistically pushed himself onward.  
“Yeah. Well… I-kinda-know-who-she-is.”  
  
He balked again as the elf leapt up onto the seat and leaned right into him, simply crackling with giddiness.  
“You DO? Oh, you HAVE to tell me, PLEASE!”  
Robbie’s heart was threatening to burst out of his chest.  
“She’s…”  
“Yeah???”  
“…Rotten.”  
Sportacus’ moustache drooped. “What do you mean, ‘Rotten’?”  
“Oh, indeed! Rottener than ME, even!”  
  
Robbie could almost hug himself. Through his unrivalled inventiveness, he had found a way out of his doom.  
“She’s an utter femme fatale, elf. She goes around from town to town, breaking the hearts of all the local superheroes. You should have seen the ruined state she left Batman in after her stay in Gotham City. Not to mention the way she had the X-men fighting amongst themselves. Talk about your wicked witches!” Here the villain chuckled vigorously.   
“If she said anything to you about undying love or being your blushing bride… I’d say you’ve been duped, my good Sportadope. She’s probably halfway to Hafnarfjörður by now with your heart in her handbag.” Oh, he was enjoying this improv session too, too much.  
  
It felt as if someone had grabbed Sportacus’ heart and was gripping it tight, squeezing all the life and warmth out of it. _His_ princess, a _villain?_ Surely Robbie could not be talking about the same pale, sensitive nymph he had danced with on Hallowe’en—the one whose kiss tasted far sweeter than any sports candy he’d ever had. He looked up at Robbie, whose lip was twitching again.  
  
The villain’s amusement quickly withered. Sportadork seemed on the verge of tears. Jeez. Here came more guilt to repress, and probably another sleepless night upon his chair.  
“No,” Sportacus exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t believe you. What I felt that night was real. Her feelings were sweet and pure and she truly loved me. No matter what she might have told you.”  
  
Robbie hunched over, desperately trying not to keel over off the bench. He willed himself to remember that Sportacus was an oblivious, industrial-strength _jock._  
“In fact…” Sportacus frowned. “I bet you’ve never even met her at all! You’re just fibbing because you’re uncomfortable with seeing me happy. Is that it, Robbie?”  
The irritation in Sportacus’ voice in no way resembled the ferocious beast of Robbie’s nightmare. The elf was scolding, lecturing, but not attacking. Even in anger, he was patient and instructive. Robbie went into sulk mode, avoiding eye contact and kicking the dirt at his feet.  
  
Sportacus’ gaze drifted off into the trees. “It’s not like _you’ve_ ever felt love for anyone. Am I right?”  
Ah. There was the attack. Okay, maybe Robbie _did_ project a frosty façade sometimes, but he felt that remark was totally uncalled for.  
“Oh, thanks a lot, jerk,” Robbie spat, injury oozing from his tone. “I’m sure the heartless, cold-blooded _bad guy_ doesn’t have any feelings worth hurting at all.”  
  
He rose to flounce off, already planning on nursing his wounds with a cookies’n’cream sundae, when he felt a firm, warm hand grab his wrist.  
“I’m really sorry, Robbie,” came the voice behind him. “That was terrible of me to say. Of course you have feelings.”  
He shouldn’t have turned around to behold that face.  
Damnit damnit damnit. Maybe his next invention should be some manner of de-cute-ifier ray to use on the little flipping dolt.  
“So you should be, Sportacus. Now unhand me, I have contraptions to invent.”


	3. ~*The Steadfast Tin Villain*~

Oh, _honestly_.  
  
Stephanie marched through the streets, braving the chilly Autumn drizzle by clutching the handle of a huge pink umbrella. Although the town seemed peaceable save for the weather, the girl had noticed a few little glitches in the daily routine.  
For one thing, the black kitten was presently curled up in an abandoned bird’s nest, trying to ignore the rain and looking magnificently annoyed. She had been up in the same tree since this morning.  
She had also climbed it the day before — Sportacus had failed to show, so it was up to the small local fire brigade to rescue her. Upon the repeat performance, however, the indifferent firemen had employed a ‘fool me twice, shame on me’ policy. (Stephanie hoped that they weren’t applying that policy to the _human_ Lazytowners, and made a mental note to never play with matches again.)  
  
Furthermore, it was the second Sunday of the month, which meant the Lazytown Hotel would be playing host to its scheduled bingo tournament and cake sale. All the older ladies in town had been out in droves that morning with their cairn terriers and zimmer frames. Not once did Stephanie see Sportacus escorting any of them across the street (usually the elf looked forward to the event with boy-scout enthusiasm).  
  
Perhaps while Robbie was so beside himself with anxiety, the town would be spared any real emergencies. But a local superhero in the grip of lovesickness was never a good thing.  
Stephanie had been utterly disgusted to learn the details of Robbie’s ‘revelation’. She had tracked down Sportacus late that afternoon, ready to console him about the ugly truth and to suggest a diplomatic way to break it to the townspeople. However, what she had found was an unfazed elf, still spellbound, and probably more determined than ever to find his dream girl. Robbie’s tall tale had simply redoubled Sportacus’ longing for her.  
  
“FIFI!”  
A screeching of tires and a rather girly scream caught Stephanie’s ears. She whirled around, only to be bowled over by a stout mass of scales and slobber. A big, wet, forked tongue found her face.  
“Hey, kid, watch where yer draggin’ that thing! It nearly dented my ride!”  
“Well maybe your ride nearly dented MY draggin’!”  
“Hi Fifi, hi Stingy,” Stephanie moaned, trying to wrestle her way up off the pavement.  
“That jerk nearly hit her!” Stingy cried, rushing across the street to join them. “What would I tell the Glaumbæjargengið when they came to pick her up?”  
“Those _troll_ guys? Are you sure you should be dealing with them after everything that happened?”  
  
Stingy shrugged. “It was Robbie who arranged the visit for me. They all seem to be really scared of him now. Can’t imagine why, he’s way wimpier than they are…”  
This did nothing to reassure Stephanie. With shady characters such as the Glaumbæjargengið skulking about town doing favours (involving cute yet combustible animals), Lazytown clearly required the services of its hero more than ever.  
  
After bidding the boy and his beast farewell, she hurried to her destination: the green-tinted shopfront of Fairy Godmother’s Fancy Dress Hire.  
The pleasant jingle of the shop’s doorbell was intermingled with what was to Stephanie’s ears a rather ghastly noise.  
“…No, _you_ are, my sparkly little teapot!… no, you! You’ve already made all _my_ wishes come true!… oh, stop!”  
  
The Fairy Godmother was leaning back on her stool behind the counter, a phone receiver cradled by her shoulder as she filed her long nails. Athough too embarrassed to look up at her, Stephanie caught a lyrical accented voice on the line which sounded somewhat familiar.  
At some point, the fairy must have noticed the little girl, as she finally cooed goodbye, slammed down the phone with a metallic clang and said:  
“Forget it, Pinky. I’m not solving his problem for him. And you ain't gonna tell him, either.”  
  
The girl felt a surge of aggravation rise in the pit of her stomach.  
“But you were the one who GAVE Robbie that dress! Sportacus is so beside himself that he’s neglecting his duties! Who knows what could happen to the town without his protection?”  
  
Flinging her nail file down, the Fairy Godmother finally met Stephanie’s gaze. The girl readied herself for a stand-off, but instead the fairy smiled, leant down and pinched one of her cheeks.  
“You’re a real doll for caring about our safety so much. But look, hon, while Rotten is scared of being found out, the worst that can befall us is a tipped-up greengrocer’s stand and a few scraped knees. Heck, even when Rotten’s in top form, the only danger he poses is to himself. So don’t lose sleep, you and your little playmates’ll be fine.”  
  
Stephanie frowned, staring out at the persisting downpour.  
“But it’s not even that… Sportacus isn’t himself. He can’t focus… he’s not happy. And when he finds out the truth, it’s going to break his heart.”  
Before she sank too deeply into her worries, a thought occurred to her.  
“You have a magic wand. Can’t you just change things back to how they were?”  
  
The Fairy Godmother chuckled softly. “I don’t think so. Us magic folk don’t work like that. Sure, magic can guide our path at the proper moment, but we don’t use it to fix every one of our problems. Life just wouldn’t be interesting like that. We’d all be jellyfish without the lessons that times like this teach us. On Hallowe’en, I could have waved my wand and given Rotten any costume he wanted. But that ballgown has made things much more interesting for him. Would you rather he sit on his cute little tush all day without a single thought in his lazy little head?”  
Stephanie tried to be appeased by this. “And Sportacus?” She asked.  
“Bless the boy, he’s so cheerful about everything. All the more reason it’ll do him good to get a big, fat reality check.”  
  
***  
  
Even though the periscope couldn’t reveal much through the rain, the massive frown sitting upon Pinky’s face as she dragged herself along the footpath was visible at two hundred yards. Good. That fairy hag had taken care of her meddling.  
  
Robbie turned back to his workbench, feeling creative. He fancied himself to be the Jackson Pollock of engineering. Seldom did he plan out any of his machines— he much preferred free improvisation. His favourite method of randomly fusing spare parts together had always manifested in something interesting. (If not a functional machine, then at least an admirable entry for the local arts fair under the category of avant-garde sculpture.)  
  
He perched himself on his stool, picking up an old copper spool and a handful of little silver nails. He was in a miniature-scale sort of mood today. Humming cheerfully to himself, he began hammering the nails into the spool at random intervals, enjoying the staccato, waltzing rhythm of his little hammer tapping away, easing him into the surreal, hourless mindframe of The Zone.  
  
 _That nail should be placed a few millimetres to the right… that one to the left... Oooh, my old wire hairbrush… where the devil did I put those pliers!?... Who needs templates, I can cut this myself…Okay, maybe I DO need templates… Weld! Weld damn you!... Eheheheh…  
_  
At long last he came around, lifting his face out of a long-cooled puddle of coffee. Setting his feet flat on the ground, he read the ungodly hour of the clock. Ha, Sportaflop probably would have risen for the day by now.  
Banishing the elf from his waking thoughts, he turned back to the workbench to survey his masterpiece.  
Oh, good lord. He hadn’t, had he?  
  
A little tin figurine of Cinderella, floating in the arms of her not-at-all-unfamiliar tin Prince Charming, simpered up at him. Wondering whether he could at least sell the design to a certain family-oriented theme park, he examined the object gingerly. Why had he put that crank on the side?  
Once it was wound, a schmaltzy, melancholy tune split the air, a demented lovechild of Pyotr Tchaikovsky and Danny Elfman. Round and round the little couple danced.  
The coffee which Robbie had drunk was in danger of coming up again.  
  
“Here, Rottenella, have some dorky friends,” he snarled, slamming the blasted thing down next to the little ballerina’s jewelery case. Some of the chimes in her own music box vibrated discordantly, suggesting that she really didn’t relish the prospect of hanging out with them.  
  
It wasn’t fair. He was meant to be devoting his genius to inventions of mass destruction, not tchotchkes for young girls. Sportacus had him in a thrall which sapped him of all his carefully cultivated villainy. And no matter how many times the blue buffoon had rescued him from his own blunders, Robbie had never ever developed a taste for damselhood. He hadn’t, he hadn’t, he _hadn’t_.  
  
Desperate for some fresh air, he grabbed his jacket, stomped up the staircase, and ripped open the door to one of his many secret entrances. Before leaving, he gave the nastiest of nasty scowls to the lavender gown, still sitting in its costume chute.  
  
The sun peeked out from behind the morass of cloud. It was still early, but not so early that the bakery wouldn’t be open. Nothing was quite as therapeutic as a good mountain of sugar and cream.  
A short while later, he was striding along a trail in the park, escaping from the sounds of the townspeople starting their day. He cradled a box of cupcakes in one arm, carrying a folding lawn chair in the other (all his favourite benches were still glistening with beads of rain). Staking out a not-so-soggy patch of grass, he set himself up, sinking back into the chair with a well-earned feeling of respite. Lazytown could, at times, offer genuine tranquility. The crisp air was helping to ease a headache that had been building throughout the night. The sound of birdcalls merged with the tantalising smell of pink cupcake frosting, and the sight of...  
  
...A soccer ball whizzing past. Followed swiftly by a blue sports elf. Robbie knew that this interlude had been too good to last.  
“Hey!” Sportacus called to him, at which the villain turned away, sticking his nose in the air. Of course, the dope couldn’t take a hint, and bounded up to him like a labrador to its master.  
“What are you doing up this early, Robbie?”  
With a painful sigh, Robbie condescended to address him. “ _I’ve_ been up all night inventing, grappling with the force of my own brilliance.”  
Sportacus nodded eagerly. “How’s it going?”  
Robbie’s nose scrunched up. “Poorly.” He gave a haughty, affronted sniff, and changed the subject.  
  
“I suppose waking at this hour is part and parcel of being Mister Perfect, yes?”  
Sportacus’ grin suddenly turned sheepish. “Actually… I’ve been up all night, too.”  
Robbie gave a short, sharp laugh. “Pinky told me this whole princess thing was driving you around the bend.”  
“I can’t stop thinking about her. Bessie’s seen almost every girl in town, and we still haven’t found her.”  
  
Robbie gave a grin of his own, feline and mischievous. “I’d watch yourself at the moment. It might be almost too easy for me to defeat you in this state.”  
“But I thought you said your work was going poorly.”  
The tall man deflated like a tired purple balloon, trying to push the image of the dancing tin dolls out of his memory. “Well then,” he grumbled, “for once, I guess hero and villain have reached a stalemate.”  
Sportacus seemed to find this idea amusing. “I guess so.”  
Deeming the chat to be over with, Robbie turned away again and daintily raised a cupcake to his mouth.  
“Robbie!”  
“What _now_ , Sportakook?”  
  
The elf was staring at the little cake in Robbie’s hands. An enormous, Christmas-morning smile sat on his face.  
“I didn’t know you ate sports candy!”  
Robbie gave the sneer to end all sneers. “Wow, you _are_ losing it. This is a _cupcake_ , idiot. It’s piled with frosting and cream and—”  
“Fresh strawberries!”  
  
Robbie examined the jewel-like red morsel sitting atop the cupcake. With another long-suffering sigh, he reasoned:  
“Strawberries are candy. Everyone knows that. The three standard flavours of all confection are vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. You can’t honestly expect something that tasty to be healthy.”  
“But they are!”  
And, to Robbie’s horror, Sportacus snatched the delicate fruit off the top of the cupcake and popped it in his mouth.  
“You…”  
“See? No sugar meltdown.”  
“YOU STOLE MY STRAWBERRY!”  
  
He made to jump up and accost the elf, but bizarrely, his feet felt stuck to the earth. Looking down, he realised with dismay that the no-so-soggy patch of ground he had perched on was in fact one great, muddy quagmire. His feet had slowly sunken into the sludge, and were now stuck tight.  
A high-pitched “ew” escaped his lips. His gaze was caught by Sportacus, who couldn’t help but chuckle. The plaintive, pouty look of distress on Robbie’s face was so mirthfully adorable.  
  
“Allow me, your Rottenness.” He hoisted Robbie, cupcakes and all, into his arms. He valiantly strode across the grass, making for the solid concrete footpath.  
A few squeaks of protest issued from Robbie, and Sportacus noticed he was shivering terribly. He hoped he hadn’t frightened the poor man—judging from the heated, rose-coloured hue of his usually pallid face, it clearly wasn’t the cold that was affecting him so.  
  
Mercifully, Robbie was finally released from the elf’s embrace, and he made a great show of straightening the seams of his jacket. He was finally composed enough to glare at Sportacus. He flourished an index finger over at the patch of mud.  
“My lawn chair. Now.”  
Sportacus nodded obediently. “Okay. And your shoe, too.”  
Oh, no wonder his right foot was freezing. Its shoe was still anchored in the mud.  
  
After a few rather unnecessary flips, Sportacus fetched the items, placing them ceremoniously before the tall man.  
“Right. Now, Sportadweeb, get out of my si—”  
Robbie fell silent as he felt a strong hand grasp his leg. Sportacus slipped the shoe back onto its rightful foot, not allowing time for any dissent.  
“There we go,” he chirped, giving Robbie a gentle pat on the arm, “all better. We don’t want our toes getting cold, do we?”  
  
Before Robbie could say anything, Sportacus had flipped off to find his long-forgotten soccer ball.


	4. ~*I Could Have Waltzed All Afternoon*~

The leaden clouds persisted over Lazytown as the weather got colder, but mercifully the rain had petered off. The list of princess candidates had nearly run its gamut. The only women who had yet to try the slipper were a few plump, middle-aged housewives, an aloof blonde dental hygienist, and one of Trixie’s older sisters. Even though she was a porcilean-pale brunette, her braces and gentle, babyish voice made her just as much of a long shot as the others (Sportacus shivered with delight every time he recalled the deep, husky timbre of his princess’ voice—it was like a snarling Greta Garbo mixed with a shade of Johnny B. Badd).  
  
It was well into the afternoon, and the hero was attempting a few offhand stomach crunches at the sports park. He’d had enough of moping about in the airship, dreading the possibility of a letter from Bessie telling him all their efforts had been for naught. The kids had just gotten out of school, eager to shake off their agitation, and Sportacus was keeping one eye trained on them. Stephanie’s boombox sat on a park bench, vibrating brutally as it thumped out a collection of synthesised cartoon themes.  
  
Like Sportacus, Pixel and Stingy were sitting moodily off to one side, the former buried in a portable video game and the latter preening ‘his’ dragon. They had mutually deemed the afternoon’s activity far too girly to get involved in.  
  
“You’re fibbing!”  
“It’s true, Ziggy,” Stephanie insisted patiently, “there ARE boy ballerinas.”  
The six-year-old made a face. “Do they have to wear _tutus?_ ”  
For a reason unbeknownst to him, Trixie found this comment extremely funny, and burst into a spell of giggling.  
“Why can’t we just do the twist? I like that one, Sportacus taught it to me.”  
“These songs aren’t really meant for twisting to.” Stephanie showed Ziggy the case of the CD currently playing, which was as agressively pink as her own ensemble. A hectic collage of trademarked princesses in pastel gowns dominated the cover. “Princes and Princesses do other kinds of dances.”  
  
“Other ones that aren’t ballet?” The little blonde boy queried hopefully.  
“Well, sure. They do figure-skating sometimes… and minuet, and maypole dancing…”  
“And the lindyhop?” Stingy piped up.  
“Uh, why not,” she dismissed. “And a lot of the time they waltz together.”  
“What’s ‘waltz’ mean?”  
“Well, I could show you if I had a partner…” she murmured, scanning the surrounds for an eligible victim. She supposed Stingy might know the steps, but quickly concluded that whirling about in the handsome boy’s arms right in front of Trixie would be breaking the gal pal code.  
“Hey, Sportacus!”  
  
The elf sluggishly turned to face her, his mind obviously elsewhere.  
“I wanna teach Ziggy some ballroom dancing. Could you be my partner and help me show him?”  
The little girl’s wide smile softened Sportacus and helped bring him back down to earth. It was always a pleasure to teach the children something new.  
“Sure.” He returned the smile.  
  
She grabbed his arm and quickly pulled him out to an open area of the field. Before the elf could consent, her left hand was clamped tight on his shoulder and she’d yanked his own left hand out forcefully. Sportacus supposed that the many hours of dance practice had given the girl a great sense of mastery. At least he would never have to worry about a lack of confidence from her.  
“See, you have to place your hands like this, with the man leading the dance,” she told Ziggy and Trixie, who were following suit— even Stingy and Pixel were now watching the spectacle with guarded fascination.  
The two students had gotten their hands muddled up in a clumsy tangle, so Stephanie dutifully rushed over to organise them (Ziggy’s right hand had somehow found Trixie’s armpit).  
“Okay,” she declared finally, latching onto Sportacus again, “I’ll just show you a simple box step first.”  
  
The ‘lesson’ was bound to be less than perfect. Most of the cute fairy tale ballads that were playing were in common time, which garbled the usually elegant three-beat meter of the dance, and there were a lot of feet being stepped on. But Sportacus was utterly delighted to hear the laughter of his young charges, apple-cheeked and carefree, with the hearty excersise warming them up against the chill of the oncoming evening.  
“This was an awesome idea,” he told Stephanie. “Look, even the boys have joined in!” He indicated Pixel and Stingy, who were performing a somewhat more reserved waltz, holding each other stiffly at arm’s length. “You might have started a new trend,” the elf giggled.  
Stephanie was positively glowing with her mentor’s praise.  
  
Not far away, on a lonely stretch of road, Robbie tossed his plum-coloured silk scarf over his shoulder. Fashionable though it may have been, it was useless for blocking out the cold. Hunching over, he quickened his pace to reach the supermarket before it closed. The chill in his lair had provoked a desire for two things: a new electric heater, as well as a few rounds of Parisian hot chocolate with lashings of marshmallows and whipped cream.  
  
As he neared the town centre, the unmistakable thumpa-thumpa of a boombox could be heard. No prizes for guessing who was polluting the airwaves. Those little brats were quite mistaken with the assumption that Robbie hated music—he was a veritable fanatic for dozens of styles (after all, those magnificent drop-down speakers in his lair hadn’t been built for just _anything_ ). But that synth-string, saccharine slop that the kids always danced to was _not,_ in Robbie’s opinion, music.  
  
As he headed along the path circumnavigating the sports park, he could make out their vivacious, swishing forms through the skeletal trees. Sportagit was with them, predictably. If that infernal ‘Bing Bang’ song was forced upon Robbie one more time, he vowed to shave the girl’s hair off while she slept.  
But hark, it (thankfully) wasn’t Bing Bang. The dancers’ movements were slower, far more graceful. The villain watched as Sportacus and the kids swayed leisurely back and forth in a lingering, even pattern.  
That was unmistakably a box step waltz.  
Robbie was close enough to the group now to make out the lyrics of the current song:

_“Someday my prince will come  
Someday I’ll find my love  
And off to his castle we’ll go  
To be happy forever, I know…”  
_  
“STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!”  
  
Sweaty little hands were wrenched apart violently. Robbie crashed through the gathering, a stomping, flailing, wailing party-pooper.  
“But we were just _dancing!_ ” Stephanie cried, all too ready to stand up to another of his callous outbursts.  
“Not anymore, you’re not! Go _home!_ ”  
The sheer outrage in Robbie’s voice was sobering. He lasered into Stephanie with scorching grey-green eyes. For the first time ever, she felt a little frightened of him.  
  
“Robbie…” Sportacus approached him tentatively. “There’s no reason for the kids not to be dancing.”  
The tall man whirled around to face the elf. Suddenly he was aware of all the eyes currently on him.  
He eventually found a retort. “It’s much too cold to be moving about.”  
  
Sportacus laughed, doing a good job of easing the tension with that easygoing manner of his. “But dancing warms you up,” he stated. “If you tried it, you might not feel so chilly—”  
“That’s a good one, Sportaloon!” Robbie scoffed. “And I suppose I should gobble up some organic produce after that?”  
“You seemed keen on those strawberries,” Sportacus replied, not picking up the thick sarcasm. The kids snickered behind them, delighted to learn such scandalous information.  
  
Stephanie stepped forward, having shaken off her earlier shock. “You know what? I think Robbie _should_ try the waltz.”  
Robbie curled his lip, wondering where on earth the girl’s senses had gone to, until he noticed she and Trixie sharing meaningful smirks.  
“No…” His voice was barely a whisper, and went unheard as the Mayor sidled up to the group.  
“Time to go home, Stephanie, I’m making chicken pot pie tonight,” he announced.  
“Just a minute, Uncle. _Robbie’s_ gonna show us how to waltz.”  
Milford blinked placidly at the villain. “Why, Mister Rotten, I never knew you were a dance instructor.”  
It was time to take charge of the situation.  
  
“Why yes, yes I am,” Robbie oozed, taking Stephanie’s hand and trying to lead her out. “Come now, little one, let me show you the Lady’s Turn maneuver, and we’ll see if we can get it right this time.”  
“Ohhhh no, I’m just a lowly amateur. I want to see you demonstrate it with an experienced athlete. Like, say… Sportacus!”  
She batted her eyelashes at Robbie, who silently wished for her doom.  
Sportacus genially held his arms out, awaiting the man’s assent.  
“It’s okay, Robbie, I can lead if you’re scared.”  
  
Reluctantly, Robbie’s hand grazed the hero’s shoulder. He wondered if other villains ever had to brave such ordeals.  
A new song began to play on the boombox, a vaguely familiar tune that swept easily along in spirited glissandos.  
Sportacus fearlessly set the first foot forward.  
  
Contrary to what the elf had expected, Robbie managed to move through the simple routine without clumsiness. As a matter of fact, his gait was nimble and light, and the two of them managed to wheel about with great fluidity. (Perhaps, Sportacus thought, Robbie just wanted to hurry the whole thing along and get it over with.) His hands lay very delicately upon the shorter man, just as restive as his body was. Sportacus was almost afraid that Robbie was going to fly out of his arms at any moment.  
The opening passage of the music concluded with a jaunty _rallentando_. Thinking the song itself had ended, Ziggy applauded ardently.  
  
“Ciao, losers,” Robbie sneered, and with a grand flourish he spun his way out of Sportacus’ grip, making a bid for freedom. He started swanning his way across the sports field with his usual sashay, unconsiously keeping in time with the music’s rhythm. He only managed to travel a few yards when Sportacus snuck up and blocked his getaway with a commanding gesture, managing a broad, sturdy stance that had the villain cornered. They had played this game many times before.  
  
A pensive Robbie slowly padded backwards, Sportacus meeting him footstep for footstep. To the spectators, it looked as if the two were now performing some peculiar version of the tango.  
Tired of the cat-and-mouse routine, the elf grabbed a surprised Robbie by the waist, bringing him into a tight, inescapable spin.  
The kids clapped at what they thought was an impressive maneuver, as the CD warbled on:  
  
 _“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream  
I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam  
And I know it’s true that visions are seldom what they seem  
But if I know you, I know what you’ll do  
You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream!”  
_  
Sportacus had dragged his partner back into the waltz, and the overpowered man was at last starting to co-operate. There was an unexpected tenderness to the way Robbie felt. Unlike Stephanie’s firm confidence, his body language was flighty, frothy and somewhat unsure. Where the children clomped and bounded, Robbie fluttered and undulated, like something fragile helplessly caught in an updraught. It seemed to match the elf’s own brisk, speedy movements beautifully.  
As Robbie’s trepidation faded, Sportacus furtively drew him a little closer.  
As the final refrain of the song petered out, the couple’s frantic twirling slowed with it. The longed-for afternoon sun made a momentary appearance through a break in the clouds, and a shard of honeyed light flickered upon Robbie’s thin face.  
  
“Oh, that was quite splendid,” Milford declared, giving a dainty little golf clap. “I will have to get you to teach me the lindyhop, Mister Rotten. Now come, Stephanie, that puff pastry won’t crimp itself.”  
An errant hand still remained upon Robbie’s slender hip. It took a few moments until the villain thought to curtly brush it off, after which he finally made his getaway.  
  
Sportacus remained standing in the same spot as each of his friends dawdled home. Slowly, the hero’s eyes were drawn towards the lithe form dashing away along one of the shadier streets, plum-coloured scarf flapping madly. Feeling as if their dance wasn’t quite over, he followed.  
  
“Get lost, Sportaloon!”  
“Robbie, please! Don’t be scared of me.”  
This last plea made the man pause, if only for the assumed affront to his mettle. He had climbed the entrance of his lair and was about to slam the hatch door shut, but instead looked back at Sportacus rigidly.  
“I’m not scared of you,” he answered mechanically, knowing it was an outright lie.  
Sportacus pushed on. “I never meant for you to feel embarrased, I just… you always seem to end up enjoying yourself whenever you join in.”  
  
He had paced closer to the hatch, grasping the same ladder that Robbie was holding onto. The villain cast his eyes down, concentrating on the subterranean darkness beneath him.  
“And I like you when you play with me,” the elf asserted. Not even he was naïve enough to escape a rush of warmth to his head, once he had grasped the nuances of those words.  
Robbie remained quite motionless for a while, eyes still cast down, as if he were thinking hard.  
  
“This…” he finally said, “princess. You need to let her go.”  
Sportacus would have protested, had he not been blown away by the bittersweet sting in the man’s voice.  
“Why?” He asked simply.  
Robbie took another long moment to answer. “I just have a strong feeling you’ll be disappointed. I mean, that she’ll hurt you.”  
Something dawned on Sportacus, and his heart ruptured.  
“I was wrong. You _have_ loved someone, haven’t you?”  
  
Robbie’s head snapped back up, that familiar, terrified, cornered animal expression in place. The acute feeling churning inside Sportacus reached its apex and propelled him to clutch the friendless creature in an impassioned hug.  
“It doesn’t always have to feel so lonely,” he promised Robbie. “You’ll find your soulmate one day, too.”  
The light began to fade, and Sportacus kept holding him.  
He felt long fingers lightly touch his face, directing the elf to look up at the taller man.  
  
The very next moment, he was being kissed. A little burst of static fizzled in his chest cavity as Robbie absorbed the taste of him desperately.  
It was over before Sportacus could react, and a painful sting of cold hit him as the spectre of those soft lips ebbed away. He fought off the dizzy spell and eventually opened his eyes. The hatch door was shut tight, and Robbie had disappeared underground.


	5. ~*Tell Him Anything (But Not That I Love Him)*~

The Fairy Godmother decanted the chamomile tea into two extravagant little china cups. After placing the tray on the bench, she settled back down on her stool and eyed Sportacus warily. He seemed far from his regular jovial, smiling self. It was all too possible that Stephanie had sent him to her, expecting that she would finally solve ‘The Problem’ if its injured party was sitting right before her.  
Well, she wasn’t made of stone. It was obvious the poor boy was truly upset. There was a tiredness in his aura which had never been there before.  
Magical being to magical being, she began her counsel.  
“Whatsa matter, hon?”  
  
Sportacus took a little sip of the unsweetened tea, not looking up at her.  
“Well, the kids really seem to trust you, and I didn’t know where else to turn…” he stalled.  
“And?”  
He sighed. “My crystal has been silent for a few days now.”  
The fairy did a double take. This consultation was no scheme of an eight-year-old human. If one of Sportacus’ most vital powers was exhausted, there had to be something more ominous happening to him.  
“It’s been beeping like crazy lately, and I’ve been ignoring it. But now…”  
He unclasped the precious stone from its case, examining it sadly.  
“Nothing at all.”  
  
The sight of the lifeless orb, sapped of its inner spark, was a gross offense. “Oh, for the love of sequins and toadstools, put it away,” she commanded with a shudder. This was clearly not a time for sappy commiseration—the fairy immediately set upon a diagnosis.  
“I assume the search for your little chickadee has been causing you some stress. But could you identify any specific incident that might have stopped your crystal? Perhaps your hope of finding her has taken a few blows.”  
Sportacus gave her an empty smile. “We never found her. Every woman in town has already tried on the slipper.”  
“Oh, honey…”  
She couldn’t help it. She was a soft touch, and that cute lilting voice just sounded so damned despondent.  
“And now,” the elf continued, “there’s a question in my head that won’t go away. And I don’t think I can be a hero again at all until I find out the answer.”  
The fairy nodded. “Dish,” she ordered.  
  
As Sportacus struggled to express his conundrum, the mint-green, sparkly gears in the fairy’s mind began to grind, and her frown grew deeper and deeper.  
  
**  
  
Well, the fairy tale was definitely over.  
Robbie calmly stroked the edge of his favourite scissors with his finger. A great thick mess of tattered fabric lay at the foot of his recliner, burying the man's feet completely.  
  
He would have to leave his lair sooner or later, and would suffer some kind of penance at Sportacus’ hands. Perhaps he would not be banished from town or pummelled senseless, but he was sure that the elf would find a way of making him bleed in some way. As far as Robbie was concerned, it would be well deserved.  
  
He had howled and carried on hysterically after having kissed his rival for the second time. A pile of smashed tools and an uneven trail of small dents in the walls of his lair remained as evidence of his outburst. After a stretch of long hours, the storm inevitably died down, his cries ceasing to echo through the underground (he retained an excruciating headache, however). Fading into a dreamless sleep, mired in despair, he awoke the next afternoon with an odd sense of serenity.  
  
The next few days passed with a regularity that Robbie had not known for many weeks. Though he didn’t embark on any acts of inventing, he tottered about his lair passively, enjoying his usual solitary hobbies. Then, that afternoon, he had glanced up at his dusty costume chutes. He examined the single disguise that had, for far too long, been slowly cutting him to pieces.  
And he cut it to pieces.  
  
With the impulsiveness of a child at play, he picked up a chunk of the cloth, and snipped it carefully into smaller, more delicate scraps. The final pieces of the lavender gown floated to the cold floor, nothing but rags.  
He jumped as a prompt banging noise echoed down to him from the entrance hatch.  
What the hell did she want _now?  
_  
“Come quick,” she demanded, her pink cheeks soaked with tear tracks.  
For once silent and obliging, he took her hand and they dashed along to a spot on the outskirts of town. The little girl’s skin felt excessively hot in the bitterly cold evening, and Robbie found himself worrying that she might run a fever.  
  
The ladder to Sportacus’ airship was unfurled. He and the Mayor stood in the centre of a ring of people that must have included every citizen in Lazytown. The other children were close to Sportacus’ side. They were unnervingly silent, their faces blank.  
  
“What’s happening?” Robbie monotoned, trying to still his sickly quivering insides.  
Sportacus looked at him with an expression that was cheerless, and almost guilty.  
“My crystal has stopped working,” Sportacus told him softly. “I talked with the Fairy Godmother. She said it was reacting to my emotions, the sadness I’m feeling about not finding the princess.”  
Robbie’s eyes scanned the crowd of eerily subdued townspeople, and his heart began to pound faster. He would have opened his mouth to pronounce the bleak, ghastly conclusion that he had drawn, were it not unspeakable.  
That miserable task was left to Sportacus himself.  
“She’s not here in Lazytown. And I can't be the hero you all need until I find her.”  
A shrill whimper escaped from somewhere in the crowd. Sportacus took an agonisingly long, wavering breath.  
“I… I’m so sorry.”  
  
He diffidently placed a foot upon his airship ladder and slowly began to climb. Sorrowful calls of farewell floated up to him from below.  
But the children, Robbie noticed, remained dead silent, seen and not heard. Stephanie had sunk to her knees, face in her hands, shaking brutally with mute sobs.  
His gaze rose to the form listlessly ascending the ladder.  
“Sportacus!”  
  
Every single head immediately turned to stare at the tall man. He suddenly felt devastatingly naked.  
“I … just listen to me.”  
The blue in the elf’s eyes was as soft a hue as ever. Robbie scoured his soul for any scrap of courage he could muster.  
“She…”  
Those hundreds of spectators were like thorns in a bramble bush, pricking every inch of his skin.  
“She’s dead.”  
  
Sportacus was perfectly still for a few moments, before jumping down to the earth.  
“You’re lying,” he muttered, without looking at anyone.  
Robbie felt tears beading in his eyes, which he managed to quickly push back. “I heard screams outside my lair late Hallowe’en night. I saw her walking out of town… the Glaumbæjargengið ambushed her on the road.”  
“You’re _lying,_ ” Sportacus insisted.  
  
Robbie continued evenly. “I thought if I described her as a heartless bad guy, you might just forget her and move on.” He reached into a deep pocket of his jacket. “The trolls were too strong to fight. This was all I could salvage.”  
He produced the second purple slipper, and placed it gently into the elf’s hands.


	6. ~*The Runaway Mailbox*~

“Robbie…”  
The man looked away upon hearing his name.  
He would have blocked his ears if he could. The utter ruin in Sportacus’ gentle voice was too much to abide, let alone having to suffer watching him as he shattered.  
But Robbie had spoken the truth, had he not? She was a mere illusion which had died the moment she had left her prince’s sight.  
  
Having his back turned, he saw a trickle of townspeople begin to leave the crime scene, some with solemn, respectful faces, others looking strangely disgusted. Eventually, the icy evening air drove almost everyone indoors. The only people remaining were Robbie, Stephanie wrapping her arms around a silent, mournful wreck of a hero, and a grave-faced Milford standing over them both. He made the call to go home, and Stephanie reluctantly left Sportacus’ side.  
The gaze she cast at Robbie was filled with an ineffable pain.  
The moonless night began falling fast. Robbie shivered. He feared the prospect of having to finally set eyes on Sportacus almost as much as having to leave him here, in the most abysmal sorrow he'd ever felt.  
  
Soon the man grew weary of this purgatory, and finally found his courage. He glanced upon the tragic sight.  
Sportacus was sprawled on the grass, his downturned face shrouded by the dark. There was something wholly beautiful about his pathos, like an Old Master’s statue of a dying faun. With a touch as faint as a ghost, Robbie placed a timid hand on the elf’s shoulder.  
“It’s no good,” He murmured, his throat dry, “to want things that don’t belong to us.”  
A silence came and went.  
“That’s the second time you've told me that, and it’s still no comfort to me.”  
  
Robbie's nerves seized. He was paralysed within and without. That couldn't have meant what he thought it had.  
Sportacus raised his head, turning to face Robbie. Despite a trail of tears that glistened in the distant streetlight, his gaze was clear and whole.  
“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth, Robbie? Why do you insist on trying to break my heart?”  
Disappointment flared in the elf’s expression. Oh, he knew exactly what had happened to his ‘princess’.  
This had all been an elaborate trap.  
  
“Answer me, Robbie.”  
Like any hunted beast about to be torn apart, he ran.  
The elf gave chase, but at the first corner he rounded, Robbie was gone from his sight.  
  
***  
  
Sportacus managed to catch up with the children and their families as he hurried back into town.  
“I need help,” he told them. “Robbie’s made a break for it. If we don’t find him, I’m afraid we might never see him again.”  
“No big loss,” Trixie shrugged. This time, it was Stingy who clipped _her_ over the head.  
  
Despite the protests of pensive parents, an emergency search party was quickly formed. No corner of the town was to remain unexplored. Sportacus chastised himself internally. He should have taken account of Robbie’s reluctance and skittishness in the Fairy Godmother's plan. Now the future of his happiness was truly at stake.  
His loyal troops had assembled, with a cavalry consisting of an agile kitten and an overenthusiastic dragon.  
“Let’s go,” he exclaimed.  
  
***  
  
Stephanie punched a few buttons on her mobile, using the fuchsia-coloured device as a flashlight. She was to keep an ear out for Bessie calling— the woman was currently staking out the nearby train station, and would contact her if she spotted Robbie on the platform (Bessie’s knack for stalling people in a hurry was legendary). The pink-haired girl was patrolling Lazy Park with the Fairy Godmother. They were prowling about, trying to make as little noise as possible lest they alert the man who they were searching for. He may not have been a fast runner, but when Robbie didn’t want to be found, no-one seemed able to catch him.  
  
She wanted to speak her mind to the Fairy Godmother, and tell her that the ruse played out that evening had not been very fair. It had been a cruel act of blackmail, with the whole town conspiring to manipulate the truth out of Robbie quite unscrupulously. Sportacus, in his current state of desperation, could be forgiven for wanting him to confess so badly. But as for the others, the eagerness to expose their local ne’er-do-well had been vindictive to say the least. Perhaps his lie about the ‘princess’ was quite cowardly, not to mention hurtful, but he had been pushed onto the razor’s edge. And as far as Robbie must have thought, if he had told the truth, he would have lost Sportacus all the same, forever.  
At least Stephanie’s tears had been genuine.  
  
After a long while of fruitless searching, the Fairy Godmother decreed it was time to head back.  
“But we haven’t found him yet!” The girl protested.  
“And we ain’t gonna find him while we’re cold and tired and footsore, either,” was the final judgment.  
  
Stephanie felt too fatigued to push the point further. Head and heart both feeling heavy, she dragged her feet behind the fairy as they headed back through the streets.  
She had to blink a few times as she was overtaken by the mailbox sprinting madly towards the edge of town.  
Hold on, mailboxes didn’t sprint...  
“SPORTACUS!!!”  
  
It took the elf no time to heed her frenzied cry, and he had leapt to her side in a matter of seconds. She pointed wordlessly at the uncanny, Dr. Seussian entity, currently negotiating a rather deep gutter.  
Within a minute, at least half of the overtired, stuporous search party had joined in the pursuit. No words had been exchanged, but the herd-like impulse to chase a common prey had kicked in. Stephanie rallied enough brain cells to wonder whether anyone else had noticed that the mailbox was wearing purple pinstripe and a familiar pair of spatterdashes.  
“Come back, mailbox!” Was Ziggy’s meager cry, which barely carried in the freezing night.  
  
Distracted by the plaintive sound, the mailbox promptly crashed into a broad tree trunk, and the chase was over as quickly as it had started. Sportacus reached the site of the collision long before any of his straggling companions, and saw to the stricken object at once. He ventured to gently tap its side, but it lay silent and still upon the grass.  
  
He hauled the hefty box off the ground. Along with a copious shower of letters, bills and envelopes, out fell a clearly unconscious Robbie Rotten.


	7. ~*It Is You I Have Loved All Along*~

His limbs lay motionless amongst dunes of paper and dead leaves. His body was a willowy, wilted stem, and his face was a white pearl, unmarked by expression or verve.  
Sportacus’ usual reflex would have been to resuscitate the passive victim. All he could accomplish was brushing a few wayward locks of hair from his cold forehead, almost afraid to interfere with such perfection.  
Robbie didn’t recoil, resist or flinch. His face remained serene and uncreased. The man seemed to have finally achieved the wholly passive state he had been yearning for as long as Sportacus could remember. And in it, he was beautiful.  
  
“Is he okay?” Stephanie fretted, clutching both Ziggy and Fifi close to her to ensure they didn’t run over and crowd Robbie’s breathing space.  
The elf didn’t answer, but instead continued marvelling at what lay beneath him. He was suddenly roused by a rather devious yen sparking in his stomach. It would be less than heroic to take advantage of the helpless Robbie in any way. But something autonomous muzzled Sportacus’ usual scruples, allowing him a rare taste of gratification as his eyes traced the subtle curves of Robbie’s outstretched leg.  
  
He removed the spat from his right foot. Its pallor was almost luminescent in the gloom.  
The elf drew a well-travelled, stripy purple slipper from his vest. Smoothly, without a trace of hesitation or regret, he placed it upon the foot it had been intended for. Down to the smallest contour, it was just the right size.  
Sportacus had judged too quickly beforehand. _This_ was the ultimate perfection.  
  
“Goodness gracious…” Nearby, Milford held a hand to his mouth, his voice a whisper.  
“I _told_ you I wasn’t bluffing,” The Fairy Godmother blurted loudly.  
  
Her hoarse, strident voice broke the spell, and Robbie shuddered slightly. The elf warily drew back as he stirred, his hand limply seeking out a large, monstrous bump on the back of his crown.  
A low, nettled groan was stifled as Robbie’s foggy gaze met with a pair of absurdly blue eyes.  
He curled his toes a little, considering the feel of the elegant talisman encasing them. Recoiling, he began to shakily clamber to his feet, clinging to the dormant tree behind him for support.  
“It’s not what it looks like.”  
  
His voice had regained its usual growl, but not a single soul watching him missed his frailty. Weak as a kitten, pride unravelled, the wretch made a fatigued yet fretful attempt to stagger off to safety. Sportacus’ heroic impulses finally kicked in, and he moved towards Robbie.  
“Don’t…” Robbie begged, voice thick with unreleased sobs, “Don’t hurt me, it’s not what it looks like…” He repeated feebly.  
The Fairy Godmother had had enough. “Honey, this is exactly what it looks like,” she affirmed.  
With surprising quickness, she dug a star-tipped wand out of her handbag and thrust it square at Robbie’s chest.  
  
After a suspended moment of incredible unblemished light, the eyes of the astonished onlookers gradually recovered. They were blessed with a vision of the most heart-rending, irregular princess they had ever seen. Persisting flickers of the fairy’s spell clung to the glossy folds of the gown and the cloud of ebony hair, as if they longed to be a part of this uncommon beauty eternally.  
  
Robbie faced Sportacus in a poised, reserved manner, echoing the decorum of a true princess.  
“How long have you known?” He asked drearily, the fight gone from his voice.  
“Since the afternoon you kissed me. But I wanted you to tell me so. I really did.”  
Robbie's face took on the deathlike appearance of his earlier concussion. Unnoticed by everyone, a small snowflake drifted down from the black sky and melted upon the tip of his slipper.  
A sign of life eventually came in the form of tears escaping from his closed eyes. He battled to stop his mouth from frowning and his brow from crinkling, but that identifiable, almost comforting twitch stole onto his features.  
“I'm sorry,” he breathed, “for everything.”  
Straightening himself up as much as possible, he accepted his end.  
“Take your best shot,” he told Sportacus.  
  
He felt his gloved hand being seized and pulled taut. A warm pair of lips were pressed through the thin cloth, causing a cloud of heat to bloom on his frozen skin.  
The prince had knelt before his princess, taking his hand in a gesture that was at once dutiful and passionate. He held it adoringly to his ruddy face, the blissful contact further soothing away the cold and the gloom for both of them.  
“The best shot I have,” the hero said, “Is to promise you my love.”  
  
Those words disoriented the earth, and Robbie dithered a little, woozy from a hastening tide of euphoria. He drowned, surfaced, and eventually found his heeled feet again.  
He gave the man he had desired for so long an impetuous smirk. “You know, promising me your ‘unfaltering devotion’ sounds far more poetic.”  
With a peal of spirited laughter, Sportacus swept Robbie off his feet, costing him his balance yet again. With his wily beloved safely enfolded in his arms, he fixed the covenant with a tender, heady, intensely loving kiss.  
  
A wave of jubilant girlish squeals and a breathily uttered “woah” reminded the lovers of the children (young and middle-aged) that were still present.  
The Faiy Godmother was a total mess, dabbing at her watery eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “I love my work,” she whimpered.  
  
Delicate snowflakes were, by now, falling all around the group. The children scurried across the frosty ground towards the cozy suppers, baths and beds that awaited them. Giddy and relieved, they declared their amazement to each other in gushing, bubbly tones. Sportacus amiably wished them all goodnight while his princess huffily turned away from them, burying his painted face in the elf’s collar.  
  
“You don't want that silk getting all drenched in the snow, sweetie,” a remarkably recovered Fairy Godmother stated, aiming her wand at Robbie yet again.  
With another radiant, squint-inducing flash of light, the gown was gone, and what remained in Sportacus’ arms was the pasty, skinny, blustery animal who had so often stirred the town and its people into profound agitation.  
  
He examined his hero’s ridiucluously gorgeous features.  
“Wait... maybe this is wrong,” he suggested glumly. “The hero shouldn’t lower himself just to end up with the baddie.”  
Sportacus smiled dotingly at Robbie. “I don’t think that’s the case,” he replied. “I think, all along, the baddie was really just a beautiful damsel in a clever disguise.”  
And with that, the hero escorted his damsel up to their castle in the sky.  
  
~*The End*~


End file.
